Fire and Ice
by Shelley G
Summary: Jonsa drabble based on my season 8 rewrite. Can stand alone or be read along with 8x01 Winterfell and 8x02 A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. Will provide a warning if any chapters contain spoilers for season 8 stories.
1. Chapter 1

The day Sansa was born was the day Jon Snow began to to grasp what it was to be a bastard. For the first four years of his life he had recognized little difference between himself and Robb. They slept in the same nursery, played with the same toys, and were treated with the same loving affection by their Lord Father.

The only difference was Lady Stark, who would often come in and hold and play with Robb, but never did so with Jon. Even when he was in the same room, she rarely so much as looked at him.

Then she was with child again. Jon was too young to understand, but the day Sansa came the bells rang out for joy for days.

Father beamed with pride when he brought the tiny bundle to the nursery and introduced the boys to the tiny, wrinkly human.

He said she was beautiful like her mother, but Jon didn't see the beauty. Her face scrunched up and turned nearly purple whenever she woke screaming.

Father said she was precious and that they were to protect her all the days of their lives, for sisters were made to be cherished.

Jon didn't understand why these words brought tears to the eyes of Lord Stark, but he decided the words were important and that he would obey them. He would protect the ugly little baby, because that was what a good brother was suppose to do.

Then the Lord of Winterfell asked Robb if he'd like to see his mother and took Robb and the bundle away from the nursery, leaving Jon alone.

That was when Jon began to realize that it was his duty to protect the Starks, but not to be one of them.

Over time, the ugly baby did become beautiful. And Jon loved her. While Robb was more fun and they played with swords in the yard, he loved the pretty baby with full pink cheeks and her mother's rich auburn hair best.

When Lady Stark wasn't around, Jon would gather wildflowers and weave them into Sansa's hair. He would hold her pudgy little hand as she tottered down stone halls to make sure she never fell and hurt herself.

Even when Lady Stark bore another little girl a mere two years later, one who shared Jon's darker complexion, it was still the little Lady Sansa that Jon loved best.

But the next year, Lady Stark bore a second son and named him Brandon for Father's dead brother and her slain betrothed.

And pretty little Sansa loved the new baby. She rarely left her mother's side, constantly wishing to hold and help with the squalling infant.

But still she would find Jon and let him lead her through dark halls of the castle and wind through towering trees of the godswood. And in those moments, it didn't matter that Lady Stark never treated him like one of the family because Sansa did.

Then came the day when Sansa was old enough to understand what it meant to be bastard and she began to look at him differently.

_My half-brother,_ she said whenever asked about him.

And that wounded him more than Lady Stark's neglect ever had.

Pretty little Sansa, with her porcelain skin and kind eyes no longer sought him out or let him weave flowers in her hair.

Still… He loved her best.

He just no longer admitted it. Not even to himself.

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**Since plot prevents me from focusing on these two as much as I'd like in my rewrite of season 8, I thought I'd make a place to dump any Jonsa fluff that strikes my fancy. Updates will be sporadic. No real plot, just background.**

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	2. Chapter 2

She looked at him like he was one of those heroic knights in her favorite songs and stories, that little princeling with the pouty lips and golden hair. Pretty little Sansa, with her auburn hair and eyes that glittered like starlight. She looked at him in adoration when he smiled and flirted with her, never seeing the way that smile turned to a sneer when directed at anyone else, besides his mother.

_You must protect her, all the days of your life_. Their father had charged Jon with that duty on the day she was born. Thirteen years ago and the words had not faded from his mind or heart. Though Sansa spent most of her time inside learning her lessons from her Septa and Jon rarely saw her, let alone spoke to her, he saw her still as his responsibility. If he didn't keep her safe, who would?

The other Starks were all north, born strong, but not Sansa. She was delicate. She was born for beautiful things and beautiful places. And someone had to make sure the world behaved accordingly.

_Sansa's going to marry the prince_. Arya told him like it was a something terribly funny and mildly disgusting. Jon laughed and smiled with her, but he couldn't find the mirth in it. There was something rotten in Jeoffery Baratheon. He was all smiles and courtly warmth to _his_ Lady Sansa, but there was something else, something cruel right beneath the surface that made Jon uneasy. He felt certain that the Prince would not be good to Sansa and King's Landing would not be the beautiful place she imagined.

Jon wanted nothing more than to save her from that. It was his duty, after all. But he was just a bastard. What say did he have?

He and his uncle rode South with the King's company down the King's Road for the first few days of their journey to the wall, But on the morning of the day their paths would diverge, he stole into Sansa's tent and lay a wildflower on her pillow. If he could, he'd steal her away to the wall where she'd never have to learn that the world wasn't as pretty as her songs. But girls weren't allowed at the wall. So he'd have to let her go and trust their Father to do the protecting.

As he, his uncle, and Lord Tyrion rode away from the King's company, Jon wondered if he'd ever see her again. Arya would find a way to visit him at the wall and he was certain his Father would as well, but Sansa? …No. She would marry her golden prince and forget all about the North and her half-brother at the Wall. It hurt, but Jon pushed the feeling down. He was used to being hurt by her, whether she meant to or not. She hurt him every time she reminded him and the world that he was less to her than the rest of the family. Especially when she was more to him.

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**Let me know if there's any particular moments through the series (pre-season 8) on or off camera that you'd be interested in seeing! Otherwise, I'll just post random moments as the cross my mind. **

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	3. Chapter 3

"You swore a vow." Edd reminded him.

Jon let out a slow breath. Even breathing still hurt. The Red Priestess may have given him back his life, but she'd done little to heal his body.

"Aye, I pledged my life to the Night's Watch." He agreed. "I gave my life."

"For all nights to come." Edd insisted.

"They killed me, Edd!" Jon said, his voice rising. "My own brothers. You want me to stay after that?"

A horn sounded out in the yard and Jon turned away to see the cause of the commotion. He stepped out onto the decking in time to see three riders dismounting from horses. The first two were a squire and a towering knight… no, a woman. But taller than any woman he'd ever seen, even amongst the wildlings who like to breed hardy stock. The other rider was still tall, but dwarfed beside the armored woman. She wore a ragged cloak and her hair, though braided, looked messy and unkempt. And red.

_Impossible_. He thought even as the maid turned around, her pale gaze searching and stopping only when it locked on his face.

Sansa… Pretty little Sansa. Though not so little, as pretty as ever despite her ragged condition. He didn't remember starting to move, but before he knew it, his feet had carried him halfway down the stairs. He didn't run, half afraid that should he reach her she would prove no more than a dream and disappear in a wisp of smoke.

She stared back at him as he approached. He stopped several feet shy. She was older, her face more mature anther body more womanly, but it was Sansa. The little cherub with porcelain skin and wildflowers in her hair. The too beautiful child, betrothed to a princeling and taken South on empty promises. He'd heard stories of her being in Winterfell, wed to a Bolton, but he hadn't believed it. Hadn't wanted to believe it. For her to be so close and still out of reach was a cruel fate. But here she was. Close enough to touch.

She spread her arms and rushed to him, and he met her in the middle, closing the distance between them. Her body pressed against his and her arms held him as though he was the only thing in the world that could save her from drowning. Her touch made him acutely aware of the ten knife wounds in his chest and he couldn't breath for the pain, but he didn't care and refused to show the hurt for fear that she would pull away. And if he wasn't touching her, he wasn't sure she wouldn't disappear like the beautiful dream she was. He tightened his arms around her and closed his eyes holding her to him as desperately as she held him. Perhaps she wasn't the only one drowning. Perhaps together they could navigate this turbulent sea.

And he was more certain than ever that he would leave the Night's Watch. For he may have made a vow, but that vow was fulfilled and in his arms was one far older and far dearer to his heart.

_You must protect her, all the days of your life_.

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	4. Chapter 4

Sansa sipped her soup with all the airs of a lady that would do her lady mother proud, even in the dim and less than elegant chambers of the Lord Commander. Judging by the tremor in her hands, she was starving and likely undernourished. Jon wondered how long it had been since she'd had a proper meal.

From the little she'd told him of the husband she'd fled, he rather doubted feeding his wife had been high on Ramsay's list of priorities.

He gathered other things, things she didn't say, from the way she shied away from the brothers of the Night's Watch, from everyone besides her protector Brienne and him. Ramsay had hurt her, badly. The knowledge boiled inside him. Sansa, pretty little Sansa, born for beautiful things and beautiful places had learned a side of the world he'd never wanted her to see. At least when he'd heard the Lannister's married her to Tyrion he knew she would be looked after. While he didn't like the idea of her in the bed of that whoremonger, he knew Lord Tyrion to be a good sort of fellow. But this Bolton Bastard… Had he known what was happening in Winterfell… What would he have done? He'd been tied to the wall as the Lord Commander. He'd been dealing with the war between the Crows and the Wildlings. He couldn't have dropped everything to ride South to save one girl.

But he would have.

He would have turned his back on the wall like he had when he'd gone to aid Robb. He'd stopped that time, he'd listened to reason and been reminded of his duty. But no reason or duty could have convinced him to leave Sansa in Ramsay's hands.

She looked at him, and gave a small smile. "This is good soup." She looked away. "Do you remember those kidney pies Old Nan used to make?"  
"With the peas and onions?" He asked. And carrots. Always teeming with carrots. He'd never much cared for that part, but when Sansa was little, he'd get her to eat his, telling her they'd keep her hair as red as her mother's.  
"Mmm." She smiled again and he wondered if she was remembering the same thing.

"We never should have left Winterfell." He said, unable to look at her. Not wanting her to see the guilt in his eyes. If they'd stayed, if they'd both stayed, none of this would have happened. He never would have let anyone hurt her and she never would have had to find out the would wasn't like her pretty songs and stories.

"Don't you wish we could go back to the day we left?" She asked. "I want to scream at myself, Don't go, you idiot."

"How could we know?" He asked.

"I spent a lot of time thinking about what an ass I was to you." Sansa admitted. "I wish I could change everything."

His chest tightened at her words. _My half-brother_. To him she'd always been everything good, but to her he'd been her father's bastard since she was old enough to understand the pain it had caused her mother.

"We were children." Jon said. Despite the pain she'd unintentionally caused him, he didn't want an apology. He didn't want her to feel anything bad, not even guilt for the wrongs she'd done him.

"I was awful, just admit it." She said.

He chuckled softly. "You were occasionally awful."

She scoffed lightly.

"I'm sure I can't have been great fun. Always sulking in the corner while the rest of you played." He said, to justify her former indifference.

"Can you forgive me?" She asked.

"There's nothing to forgive." He assured her. And it was true. He'd never once resented her in the time since she'd left the North. He'd only ever wished her safeties and what happiness she might be able to find. Well… he'd wished one thing more, to see her again, but that had seemed an impossible hope.

"Forgive me." She pressed.

"All right." He smiled. "All right, I forgive you."

She laughed and looked at him, her eyes making it both impossible to look away and hard to meet her gaze. He took a swig of his ale to save himself. She looked at his cup and he passed it to her. She wasn't a child anymore, after all.

She took a drink and came up spluttering and choking.

He laughed at her and she passed the cup back to him.

"You'd think after thousands of years, the Night's Watch would have learned how to make a good ale."

She studied him for a long moment. "Where will you go?"

"Where will we go?" He corrected. He'd lost her once and there was no way he was going to let that happen again. "If I don't watch over you, Father's ghost will come back and murder me."

"Where will we go?" She said, her eyes soft and almost happy.

"I can't stay here, not after what happened." Jon said.

"There's only one place we can go." Sansa decided. "Home."

Jon looked at her, trying not to laugh at the naivety of the suggestion.

"Should we tell the Boltons to pack up and leave?" He asked.

"We'll take it back from them." Sansa insisted, her voice and eyes going hard. Gone was the delicate girl he'd picked wildflowers for. This woman was something else, something harder. Something Northern.

Jon sat back, surprised by the ferocity he'd never seen in her before.

"I don't have an army."

"How many wildlings did you save?" She asked.

"They didn't come here to serve me."

"They owe you their lives." She insisted, rising to her feet. "You think they'll be safe here if Roose Bolton remains Warden of the North?"

She walked behind him. He didn't know if she intended for him to follow, but he didn't have it in him to do so. He just felt empty.

"Sansa."

"Winterfell is our home." She insisted with even more passion. "It's ours and Arya's and Bran's and Rickon's. Wherever they are, it belongs to our family. We have to fight for it."

"I'm tired of fighting." He snapped. He rose and turned to face her. "It's all I've done since I left home. I've killed brothers of the Night's Watch. I've killed wildlings. I've killed men that I admire. I hanged a boy younger than Bran. I fought and I lost."

And he couldn't lose again. Not now. Not when he had something he couldn't afford to lose.

"If we don't take back the North, we'll never be safe." Sansa said, so calm it unnerved him more than her passion. She stepped toward him, her eyes never leaving his. "I want you to help me. But I'll do it myself if I have to."

He let out a shaking breath. All he wanted was to get as far away from this place as possible, to go somewhere that would remind the both of them that the world could be beautiful. But if she was going to fight… Well, if so, he'd be the shield that would guard her. As he always had been.

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